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To the untrained eye, Velma Dinkley appeared to be someone who hated heat. She practically lived in turtlenecks and knee-socks, as if doing her utmost to conceal her form from the glaring rays of the sun.
But Velma loved heat, and only wore her trademark clothing as a way of keeping the comfort of warmth with her as much as she could. A nice patch of sunlight and she’d curl up, cat-like, with a good Queen or Christie book. She was in her element in a greenhouse or a sauna, and had she her druthers, she and her family of choice would never solve mysteries anywhere north of Virginia.
So it was that when their latest case took them to the Pacific coast at the beginning of July, Velma was pleased as the proverbial punch. They’d trailed an alleged whale-creature--that was to say, a creature with the lower body of a human and upper portion of an orca. It was all fairly ridiculous, and as luck would have it, the proximity of a copper mine had more to do with beast than any superstitious legend.
When the mask had been pulled, the criminal apprehended and the blame placed on the shoulders of meddling kids and canines alike, the gang had decided to indulge themselves.
“When are we ever going to get back to the Pacific Coast?” Daphne had gushed. The California sun had made her hair look a positive fire, and her eyes had bloomed with anticipation like the first green buds of spring. Freddie had found a lot on the nearest campground, downwind from a bus of hippies looking for love and new horizons. Untethered from responsibility and untold miles of blacktop, the gang had fallen to the sands and surf with gusto.
Velma was sitting on a stool at the snack shack near the beach’s parking lot. From her vantage point she could see all the glory on display: golden-white dunes and wisps of beach fern; a sky vast as America’s dreams, and the rolling ocean waves. And that was all to say nothing of the people.
Glancing aside from a copy of Tiger Magazine (intelligent as she was, she was still a teenager) she scanned the beach. Mothers and fathers applied copious sunscreen to shrieking children who wanted nothing more than the race into the tide. Clusters of young people battled for dominance in games of chicken out in the shallows. It was hard to believe people could be so delighted when there were wars being fought overseas and campuses turning into battlegrounds.
But Velma felt that that was as it should be. After all, what good was a land founded on freedom if people weren’t left to be blissfully ignorant on days like this?
Her gaze fell on a pocket of four figures some fifty feet down the sloping sand. She’d taken comfort in seeing strangers having a pleasant time by the shore. Seeing her little family of foundlings made her glow like a beachside bonfire.
There was Scooby-Doo, leaping like a lord after a Frisbee. Out of all the strange things Velma and the gang had encountered, the mystery of a dog who was almost human was one she sincerely hoped they never solved. Scooby’s big form was dwarfed only by his bigger heart. How many times had he been there with a knowing nudge to the shoulder when Velma was overwhelmed? His being a coward didn’t diminish his having an affection and loyalty bigger than the blue, blue ocean.
Velma watched as Shaggy made a lunge for the Frisbee, and slid into the sand. Instead of acting hard-done by, he simply laughed. Completely non-self conscious; that was Shaggy Rogers. Well, at least disregarding the embarrassment he felt over his birth name. Velma liked that about him, that he coasted through life without a silver dollar care for the opinions of others. He’d be the first to say he wasn’t smart, or brave, or passionate. But Velma knew it was all a wash. Shaggy liked to read as much as she did, although he preferred the fantasy books of Tolkien and Le Guin to the science fiction of Asimov and Bradbury. He thought and felt deeply. And while he, like Scooby-Doo, was the first to quake in his shoes whenever faced by a foe, Velma trusted him with her life.
She shaded her eyes from the sun as Shaggy clambered to his feet and tossed the disc towards Fred. Herculean didn’t quite cut the figure of the gang’s de facto leader. Sure, he was strong, and his swimming trunks showed that to advantage. But there was more to Fred Jones that a chisel jaw and big arms. There were eyes that changed from the forgiving, hopeful blue of a Midwestern sky to a steely determination when called to action. There was that smile—that make-‘em-swoon Mickey Dolenz smile of daydream believing and nights in white satin. He had a good heart, too. A heart that most who met him didn’t anticipate. Velma had pondered many times how she and her gang—and indeed most people—were as inscrutable as the kooks in Halloween costumes. She’d read Jung’s theory in psychology and thought it artistic and honest—certainly more loving of the human race and less perverted than Freud. The gang all wore certain fronts to face the world—and they only let them down around each other.
Fred lunged for Shaggy, who half toppled into him. Both boys spent several seconds in a play-wrestle while Scooby took the Frisbee in his jaws. Daphne laughed—a loud laugh likely audible in San Luis Obispo. Daphne laughed unlike she looked; beautiful, certainly but so carelessly. It was a laugh that always ended in a squeal, and she’d confessed many a time to Velma that she hated the sound of her laughter.
Velma loved hearing Daphne laugh. So did Shaggy, Scooby and especially Fred; and so, too, would anyone who had a heart.
Daphne was a knockout today, in a bikini the color of a horizon streaked purple by the setting sun. Many a look and been shot her way, and while she did enjoy the attention, Velma knew she did it for two people: Daphne Blake herself, and the man who had her heart; the Clovis to her—well, Daphne. Freddie had often said he’d love Daphne if she were as haggard as Baby Jane, which was perfectly true. However, Velma was of the opinion that there was no love like the love of youth, and it was to everyone’s relief that Daphne didn’t appear to be showing signs of insanity-induced decline yet.
“Interested in anything?”
Velma looked up at the woman behind the stand—a sturdy older woman with smooth, dark brown skin and eyes that looked tired yet humorous. She gestured at the cooler of ice cream behind her. “You’ve been sitting here long enough; might as well enjoy one of our patented thirty-one flavors.”
“Nothing yet, thank you.” As Velma spoke, one of the young men from the beach jogged to the snack stand. He was a gangly guy, likely around her age, with styled dark hair and a nervous grin.
“Hot out here,” he said. “My cousins and I were watching you. If you’re alone you’re more than welcome to join us.” He nodded over his shoulder to a family gathered by an enormous beach blanket.
A cursed flush crept up Velma’s cheeks. “That’s really kind of you, but I’m here with my friends.” She pointed at the gang. The strange boy looked around. Of the four of Velma’s nearest and dearest, only Fred noticed anything. He and Shaggy had concluded their tussle in the tide pools, and now Shaggy, Daphne and Scooby were monitoring a large crab that had come scuttling over the sand with some wariness.
“Oh,” said the boy. “They can join too.”
“You’ll have to ask them.” She returned to her magazine. Only when the boy’s shadow remained did Velma realize he hadn’t moved. He was still watching her, his shoulders tensed, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. Either he had sand in a very sensitive area of his shorts, or he was nervous.
“It’s just—I thought, y’know—maybe we could get to know each other.”
He liked her.
A heat of a different shade scorched Velma from chin to hair root. She noticed the attendant behind the counter giggle, and saw Freddie approaching from the shore.
“Oh.” That was all she could muster. How could she possibly tell this poor guy that she wasn’t interested? Not that she didn’t think he was cute or that his intentions weren’t honorable. But when she’d tried to explain things in the past she usually either had people believing she was on the Sapphic side of the Stonewall Riots; or that she was stuck up, and neither of those things was true.
The boy sighed. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to be forward. It’s just, I noticed you and I think you’re outta sight, and that wrap your wearing it’s…well, it was purchased from the Coroy shop back in town right?”
Velma blinked, feeling her flush recede. She was wearing an orange wrap light as a feather over her one piece, and had indeed, purchased it from said shop. “I did, yes.”
“That’s my auntie.” The boy smiled sheepishly. “Most people drive by since there’s a department store in the city. I recognized the pattern.”
Velma smiled. “It’s Mayan isn’t it?”
The boy brightened. “That’s right. Hey, most people don’t know how to tell.”
“I took a college course,” Velma said. “I heard the legend of Quetzalcoatl when I was a child. I read every book about the history as I could.”
“College? Are you from San Mateo?”
“No, I just finished high school in Coolsville.”
The boy’s eyes went wide. The watching attendant even looked impressed.
“Far out! Hey, are you sure you don’t want to join us? Some of my cousins live on the peninsula. Well, I mean...they did.”
Before Velma could answer, Fred arrived. He offered the stranger that pop idol smile, but Velma noticed he was making an effort to stand at his full height. “You’re not being bothered are you?”
Velma grinned. “Not at all.”
The boy looked up at Freddie—and then up again, given that he only came up around Fred’s collarbone. “Who are you?” He sounded both impressed and horrified.
“I’m her fella,” Fred said cheerfully, and Velma rolled her eyes.
“Of course he isn’t,” she said patiently. “He’s one of my closest friends. And maybe I can get him and the others to join your family if you give me time to convince them.” She tried to smile as kindly at the boy as possible. It wasn’t a refusal, but she also didn’t feel like being surrounded by a big group and lots of conversation.
Fortunately the boy didn’t look crestfallen. He took Velma’s words as assurance, and walked off with his head held high.
“My fella,” Velma said with a wry shake of her head. “He was being perfectly nice, you know.”
Fred plopped onto the seat beside her. Sand clung to his back and legs, and his skin was slightly pink from being out in the sun. He smelled sharp and crisp, like sunscreen.
“Couldn’t help myself,” he said. “I saw him putting the moves on you and thought I’d cut in.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Besides, I figured it would spare you from having him mistake you for either an ice queen or a friend of Dietrich’s.”
Velma smiled softly. “Well, that I really do appreciate Fred.” The last time she’d tried to shake someone off, it and ended in her near-tears from the jerk’s furious diatribe.
“Are you going to order anything?” The attendant raked Fred from head to toe as if he were the Statue of David.
“Actually yes,” Fred said. “For me for now and then later. Shaggy wanted a triple-decker banana split with a Rocky Road choco-chunk topper and raspberry syrup. Oh, and Daph wants a cherry-Coke with—and these are her words not mine so please don’t get mad at me—a tower of ice.” He cast an apologetic look from beneath his lashes at the woman behind the counter.
“That all?”
Fred frowned, thinking for a moment and added, “For me I’ll just have two scoops of Banana Slammer in a bowl.” He turned to Velma, who beat him to the punch by gesturing with her perspiring glass of lemonade. “That’s all.” Fred paid, then settled in to wait, slapping his hands on his thighs in time to the song warbling from the little Craftsman radio perched above the ice cream.
“…and ice cream castles in the air, and feather canyons everywhere, I’ve looked at life that way…”
Velma returned to the magazine, trying to find the article she’d lost. She was keenly aware of Fred the way she was aware of the glowing summer day. She liked that he’d wanted to rescue her, even if she hadn’t needed it. He was observant that way. He noticed people’s needs.
“You sure he wasn’t bugging you?”
Velma closed her magazine. “He was very polite. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was me he was interested in, or my wrap. He said his aunt made it.”
“Good. I would hate to have buried him up to his neck.”
“I’m just happy I didn’t have to explain myself,” Velma said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t really know when ‘I’m not interested in people sexually or romantically’ translated to ‘I’m a lesbian.’”
Fred grimaced. “As if there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian.”
“Tell me about it.”
The woman behind the counter paused in the act of passing Freddie his ice cream and Daphne’s Cherry Coke. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing as she turned to the daunting task of assembling Shaggy’s banana split.
Fred called Daphne over. She sprinted across the sand, leaving Shaggy and Scooby to dance around the persistent crab that seemed to have crawled out of a B-movie about giant crustaceans. She swiped her drink from the counter as if it were ambrosia, and took a long gulp.
“That’s so good,” she sighed. “If I ever find the saint who invented iced soda I’m going to kiss him.”
“Pretty sure he’d be a ghost by now, Daph.” Fred watched her with a face lit up like a campfire. Velma also watched Daphne. It was appropriate that the purple of her bikini was reserved for royalty. She could have put Princess Margaret to shame, both in looks and, especially, in personality.
Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “So it would be in keeping with our raison d’être then.” She turned her enchanting smile to Velma. “I thought you’d be out under the rays for sure, Velm. It’s to die for out there.”
“Maybe later. Once the, ah, battalion clears off.” She nodded to Shaggy and Scooby. Shaggy had seized a stout piece of driftwood and was attempting to drive the crab back from whence it had come while Scooby looked on apprehensively.
Fred shot to his feet. “I’ll—
“You will stay here and wait for the heroes' feast.” Daphne squared her shoulders. “I’m not about to let some pincered bully make a monkey out of us.” She marched forward, Cherry Coke gripped tightly in one hand.
“Tenacious, that one,” Velma said appreciatively. Fred sank back to his seat, still eyeing Daphne with mingled respect and derision. “She can handle it, Freddie.”
“I know, it’s just…Shaggy needs me.”
Velma folded her magazine and regarded Freddie thoughtfully. “You really do care.” She tried to sound playful, though she was genuinely curious.
“Of course I do.” Fred frowned. “He’s one of my best friends. He’s got a yellow streak down his back, yeah, but nobody’s perfect. He’s funny and deep, and he's got a good heart and…” His voice trailed off.
The attendant looked over her shoulder, once more with a look of genuine surprise on her face. “Careful there, stuff,” she said. “Your lady-fair might get jealous if she hears you talk like that.”
Fred took a spoonful of ice cream. “She knows,” he said. “We hunt the closet skeletons, we don’t harbor them.”
Velma waited, listening to the tinkling music. Goodness knew Freddie had been nothing but receptive to her unique situation whenever the subject had come up. She’d had her suspicions about him, but hadn’t wanted to broach the subject out of respect for his privacy. Yet the part of her that railed against crooked real estate developers in stage makeup and handmade costumes wanted nothing more than to peel this layer back.
“It’s okay if you…Y’know, feel that way.”
Fred glanced at her, and Velma smiled. “I mean, you’ve been understanding and accommodating of me not being particularly interested in anything like that.”
The waves lapped at the shore. Gulls and children squeaked. Daphne had driven the crab off and was gently stroking Scooby’s fur, no doubt telling him how brave he’d been. Shaggy had taken note of Fred and Velma at the snack stand and was watching them from afar. Still the radio played on, and Velma felt as if she’d opened a pocket to somewhere removed from reality.
“…I’ve looked at love from both sides now, from win and lose…”
“But I don’t understand.” Fred looked slightly ashamed. “I mean, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. You’re amazing, Velma, but I guess I just need it explained like I’m five. Y’know, being the big idiot that I am.”
Velma grimaced. “Please don’t talk about yourself that way. And if we’re on the subject—I mean to say, I understand why you would—I’m just a little lost.”
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Freddie.” Velma gave him a withering look. He only grinned like a mischievous child and shoveled more ice cream into his mouth.
She could have refused. He wouldn’t press the issue, had never pressed it. But Velma Dinkley was a creature of curiosity, and here was the chance to learn something that, for all her inquisitiveness and intuition, still eluded her.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate people, or find people attractive,” Velma said, choosing her words with finesse. “It isn’t even that I find romance repellent.”
“What about…Y’know…” Freddie went slightly pink, something he rarely did. Velma laughed at his discretion.
“I am the one who read Tropic of Cancer,” she said. “Not that I recommend it. I appreciate that stuff, too. I don’t find it disgusting if that’s what you mean. I just don’t want it for myself.”
A line creased between Freddie’s eyebrows as he thoughtfully ate more ice cream. “I guess I always just thought that the word and the deed went hand in hand.” He winced. “I could have phrased that better.”
“But they don’t.” Velma shuffled into a more comfortable position. “It’s an action-fusion fallacy. There’s been fascinating work in that field, psychologically at least.”
“That’s my girl, getting excited at education-speak,” Fred said, speaking to no one in particular.
“I’m serious, Freddie. I can have thoughts about love and dating and—Y’know—
But it was the ever-present and oft-forgotten attendant who supplied the answer. “Making it with people?” She turned, only half-way through filling Shaggy’s heaping banana split. Both Freddie and Velma blushed, and Velma hastily added, “Yes, that’s right, thank you.”
Fred cleared his throat. “But it’s not something you entertain or pursue?”
“Not at all,” Velma said. “There’s more than one kind of love in life, Fred. You can still have a fulfilling time on Earth without having to get married or date or commit to people in that way. I consider myself someone who has a lot of fulfilling love—my parents, for one, and you guys for another.”
Freddie beamed. “She loves us. I’m over the moon.”
“You ought to be,” Velma laughed. Really this was easier than she thought. Casting around for some kind of metaphor, she pointed at the little radio now concluding Joni Mitchell’s ode to clouds and love and life.
“Take that for instance. I appreciate it, but I have no desire to do it myself.”
Fred wiped his lips on a napkin. “You…have no desire to listen to the radio?”
“No. The song. The lyrics are poetry. The music is out of this world. I feel moved by it, but I don’t want to make my own music." Realizing that she’d waxed poetic, she lowered her head and flipped her magazine open. “It could apply to all sorts. Art, movies, food I guess.”
Fred stared into the middle distance, a sign of his being lost in thought. Velma wanted to trip over herself to get him to get it. Even thought she knew he already did to some extent, he’d still had limited knowledge, and now that it was out in the open she couldn’t stand a retreat.
After a moment, he grinned. “ I understand.”
They held a gaze for enough time to let the song conclude. Velma knew he wasn’t pulling her leg, or telling her what she wanted to hear just to save face. Freddie Jones wasn’t that kind of person.
The contact broke when the attendant hoisted a banana split the size of Catalina Island onto the counter. “I've never seen the like,” she said. “Your friend must put Mama Cass to shame.”
Velma smiled. “We’ve met Mama Cass.”
“And you’d be surprised,” Freddie said. He held up a finger. A quick look to the shoreline showed Velma an almost indistinct blur making a beeline from the surf to the snacks. The next second, Shaggy slid like DiMaggio to home plate, eyes popping at the sight of the choice feast.
“Far out, man! Home and Garden couldn’t have done it better!”
The attendant swelled with pride. “Think nothing of it, kid. You’ve got a good friend here, willing to cover something this major for you.”
Droplets of water clung to the dusting of hair on Shaggy’s scrawny arms, bare chest and legs. He flung an arm around Fred’s shoulder and gave him a playful tussle. “Don’t I know it. My pals take care of me despite, like, all my goony actions.”
“Not goony,” Fred said, clearly delighted at the contact. “Endearing. I’m happy do it, Shag.”
“I love you, man,” Shaggy sighed. Pink stained Freddie’s cheeks, and Velma had to look away. She felt as if she’d just played voyeur to something she wasn’t meant to see.
“You guys wanna join us?” Shaggy hoisted the crystal dish in both his big hands. “A la mode alfresco. It’ll be groovy. We can park by that downed log and split the split.”
“In a minute,” Freddie said, still recovering from his blush. He watched Shaggy carry his loot back down the sand, where Scooby was leaping for joy and Daphne was watching with awe at the sight of such a dessert.
“He’s awesome,” Freddie said quietly.
Velma hesitated only a second before taking the plunge. “Quid pro quo.”
Any other person in their age cohort probably wouldn’t have understood. Fred wasn’t a dummy. He knew what she’d said, and what she’d said it in reference to. And, like her, he took his time cherry-picking the correct words to make her see.
“I used to get really torn up about it. Y’know, before I found all of you, I kept worrying it was some kind of defect. But the way I see it, there’s just too much to be enjoyed, right?”
“So it’s the pleasure of the thing?”
Fred stirred the last remains of his ice cream. “Not entirely. It’s…it’s like this.” He pointed with his spoon at the menu on the wall behind the counter. “They’ve got, what—thirty-one flavors?”
“Okay…”
“Well, with that many on hand why’d you limit yourself to vanilla? Or Rocky Road? What if you want to try Birthday Cake or Cherry Jubilee?”
That made some sense to Velma. Life was short, and if a body wanted to sample all that there was to offer, limitations must have felt like chains. She looked back to the beach—to where Shaggy and Daphne were enjoying one half of the banana split while Scooby gulped down the remainder. As someone who could appreciate a person’s beauty inside and out, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine Freddie losing his heart to both their fellow sleuths.
“How can you know you want the, um…Cherry Jubilee if you’ve never tried it before?
Fred smiled. “How do you know what books to read next?”
“Curiosity. Knowing myself. What I want and what I like, or what I think I’d like…” Her lips parted in blossoming comprehension.
“In my case,” Freddie said, “it’s also knowing that the ice cream might like me back.”
“This food metaphor is starting to get a little long in the tooth.”
“Did it work, though?”
Velma laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it did.” She felt as if she were a kite on the breeze—buoyant and capable of sailing to the sky.
Fred dipped his head. “I’m glad. I’m really glad to know that. And glad that we understand each other better now.”
A cozy quiet fell between them, the space filled not by an awkward tension but by a sense of knowing. Knowing that they could turn to each other if the world turned on them; knowing that there was still a place for them in the tapestry of America.
At length, Fred rose, stretching in a way that made his muscles ripple like the surface of the Pacific. “That was a mighty good feed you gave us,” he said to the attendant. The woman shrugged noncommittally and said, “I was happy to do it.”
“Coming down?” Freddie motioned to the log where their loved ones were now watching the waves. “Or do you think you might want to give Bachelor Number One a try?”
A gust of wind rolled over the beach, bringing with it the refreshing scent of salty brine.
“No contest.” Velma slid from her seat and, hooking her arm around Freddie’s, walked towards their loved ones.